


"is it permanent?" "so far..."

by protaganope



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Asthma, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Deaf Character, Gen, Growing Old, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insomnia, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 10:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protaganope/pseuds/protaganope
Summary: Inspired by:h t t p s : / / t w i t t e r . c o m / m a r v e l  j u n h e e / s t a t u s / 1 1 6 9 6 0 7 9 0 9 6 4 4 4 2 7 2 6 4 ? s = 1 9"fic idea,,, the serum has a,, time limit,?"





	"is it permanent?" "so far..."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [althoseok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/althoseok/gifts).

> This can be read romantically or platonically, yeet
> 
> See notes at the end for a run through of what happens if you need to be wary of the tags.

After they run away from the other Avengers, leave Tony a phone and likely a few more years off his life, something changes. But they make it away, find a place off-grid that should be okay for now, before they make the bigger trip. It's late at night, January chill creeping at the windows. 

Steve is in the bathroom, and he can't breathe.

When he had woken up, he'd thought it was just another nightmare. Steve's used to those, his and Bucky's both. So he had half staggered out of bed, trying to swallow. 

Blue eyes dart around. Tap, toothbrush, tile. A poor attempt at a sniff. Petrichor, leftovers from the counter across the room. 

Bucky eyes him as he braces on the sink. Gives him a few moments of privacy to try and gather himself before offering help. Steve doesn't like to be touched, not when he's like this, not like Bucky does, in order to come back down to himself. The sink is cold.

His hands feel like frostbite.

And he's panicking, oh, he is. You can see it in the way his grip is just a little too tight on the basin. A little more, and it'll crack. 

He can't breathe. He coughs, and it helps, and then he can't stop. One arm bends round his back to pound at his back before he can think about it. What kind of panic attack was this? He doesn't even remember what dream he'd had.

He can't feel his hands.

Hunched over the sink, the poor thing goes crunch under his grip and the shards are knives.

Bucky, slow and quiet save the clicking recalibration of the arm, has an odd look on his face. He's struggling to do, to say something. Steve's gaze snaps to him, squinting past the doorway into the dark of the bedroom. Bucky stares back at him, the ghost of comprehension pressing its fingernails into his face. There's a silence, all sound the rasp and wheeze of Steve's flickering breath, the vents in Bucky's arm eerily silent.

What to do? He's tried being calm, hell, even did the grounding technique with the senses, so what was even wrong? His hands heal up the cuts with a shot of warmth, and it burns.

Bucky tells him to sit down, but doesn't move. Steve tries to sigh, but the effect is rather broken by the way he chokes on his own saliva. Pathetic. He's had so many of these, no stranger to anxiety and the way it makes itself at home, prying open his ribs at the corners and deciding to lie there, heavy. The frustration at not being able to quell something so practiced, so familiar, makes his chest hurt. Slumping down on the toilet lid feels like defeat, but he's glad that he wasn't about to get any more sink in his hands. 

In with your nose, purse your lips. Breathe out, hands here, Bucky says. He pushes Steve's shaking hands to his gut, before hurriedly making his way to the kitchenette. 

And, is that coffee he's brewing?

Bucky tells him to keep the pressure on his belly, not even looking at him. Jesus, where did these rules come from? But he trusts his best friend, so he does as he's told. For the first time in his life.

Then Bucky's back with a cup of coffee that's just right and-- oh. 

Oh. 

This isn't a panic attack.

He hasn't had an asthma attack in years. No, like, _ years _ years. Before the serum. He'd thought that that affliction had died with all the others he'd made his carpal tunnel act up from, with the time spent writing them all down.

He can't believe he'd forgotten. 

Wait. 

Steve looks up at Bucky, lightning fast, and his expression must be a sight because his best friend lets out a light chuckle, tired but fond. 

He can't believe he'd forgotten, but moreso… He can't believe Bucky had remembered. 

The caffeine helps, just like it did a century ago. Steve keeps his back straight and breathing gets easier. 

It helps that he's not teetering into an anxiety attack now that he knows what was going on.

* * *

He's mostly accepted that the asthma has come back to stay, but then he starts noticing other things, too. His senses dim, slightly, they start stocking painkillers and band-aids in the cupboards. 

And it's not just him.

They start sleeping deeper, need more hours at a time. Bucky seems to recognise this, subconsciously, and every so often Steve will wake up to see him sat at the kitchenette, face in his hands, or at the bathroom sink, hair and shirt wet as though he'd splashed water in his face to stay awake. He knows Bucky doesn't sleep those nights, but tries to make up for it by sitting closer, staving off the touch starvation for the two of them.

There's one thing he doesn't think Bucky's noticed yet, but Steve starts having to talk a little louder to be heard. Bucky won't hear him otherwise. 

And it could just be the wear and tear of the lives they lead. But Steve thinks that it's different to that. In the first place, something like this could never happen if the serum was fully functioning. 

Guess the thing had a time limit. To be fair, most people didn't live past 90 years old in the twenty-first, let alone the century before. With how delicate the calculations were, he's not surprised it was only created to cycle in his system for so long. 

The Soviets had much less faulty goods to work with in the fully healthy James Buchanan Barnes than the mess Steve had been. So while Steve feels the lethargy, the sore joints, headaches and shitty breathing, Bucky seems to be fine for the most part. 

* * *

"We're getting old, aren't we?"

"Guess it's time for a rest, pal."

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I wanted to get out. Might write more ! Not sure ,,,
> 
> Summary:  
Steve wakes up in the middle of the night with an asthma attack. He mistakes it for a panic attack and could be said to have had an anxiety attack because of this. The PTSD tag is because the sensation of being in the ice appears briefly, but is not directly mentioned. The self harm tag is because in his stress he cracks the sink.  
Bucky gives him a remedy for an asthma attack because he remembers it for what it is. He gives him coffee and gives him the right exercises from when they were kids.  
As time goes on, they notice more things keep coming back. Bucky develops some hearing loss, but this is only briefly mentioned. 
> 
> I tried to be as accurate as I could, but it's been a long time since I've had an asthma attack (thank god) so please let me know if anything isn't right !


End file.
